His chest hitched shallow beneath her palm—still breathing.
“Amerei!” Her father burst from the cherry orchard, cloak snapping, soldiers flooding the grass behind him. Horses stamped in the shadows, bridled and waiting. He dropped to oneknee beside her, eyes raking Viktor’s broken body before searing into hers.
“He’s alive,” she choked, clutching tighter.
Storne’s hand clamped her shoulder, yanking her back.
“Let him go.”
“No—”
She twisted, fighting his grip.
But already his men were there, rough hands sliding under Viktor’s arms, tapping at his bloodied face until his eyes flickered. A vial was pressed to his lips, potion tipped back. He swallowed once, twice. A shudder tore through him—then he sagged limp again.
“Viktor!” Amerei’s cry split, terror clawing her throat.
“He breathes,” Storne rasped, holding her back. “Delirium keeps him breathing. We get him to Matteo’s father, and he’ll live.” His gaze locked hers, unflinching. “But we must move. Now.”
Her pulse hammered, disbelief and panic choking her.
Viktor’s head lolled against a soldier’s chest, his body a ruin of burns and blood. Amerei reached for him, but Storne’s arm tightened, dragging her back as his men hauled Viktor toward the horses.
“Border’s our only chance,” he said, already rising. “Matteo swears his father can save him. We must believe it.”
Through the press of soldiers, Gabriel’s voice cut low, urgent:
“Jasmine—come with us.”
Jasmine’s chin lifted, steady as steel. “You need eyes inside the castle. I stay.”
Gabriel’s jaw clenched. “Jasmine—”
“It’s war,” she cut in, her tone flat, final.
Gabriel caught her hand, dragged her in, kissed her hard—rough with everything unsaid—before Evander seized his shoulder and hauled him back.
“She’s made her choice,” Evander snapped. “Ride.”
Amerei barely heard them, her gaze locked on Viktor.
“On your mount,” Storne barked.
“I’m not leaving him—”
“You aren’t.”
He hauled her toward Obsidian, shoved the reins into her hands.
“But if you fall behind, he dies. Understand me?”
Her chest heaved, ash streaking her tears. She swung into the saddle with trembling hands, barely aware of Evander’s horse pressing up alongside hers, his steady presence shadowing her.
Storne’s warhorse was led forward, the stallion kneeling at a sharp command. He mounted in one fluid motion, cloak whipping, then turned to his men.
“Get him on. Lash him to me.”
They heaved Viktor up, dead weight slumping against Storne’s back. Leather straps whipped around them, binding Viktor upright, his charred body sagging. Storne’s arm locked across his, iron-hard, holding him as if he weighed nothing. For the first time, he looked at him not as his daughter’s ruin, but as the man who had saved her.
